


Drive Me Crazy

by chibi_nightowl



Category: Batman (Comics), Red Robin (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Communication, Demisexual Jason Todd, Established Relationship, First Time, Hand Jobs, Lingerie, M/M, Rimming, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-02
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23961511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chibi_nightowl/pseuds/chibi_nightowl
Summary: Jason stands by the bedroom window, hands up on the sill where he’s in the midst of pushing it closed. A hint of cigarette smoke lingers in the air. The sight is familiar.What he’s wearing is most definitely not.Tim veers off course and walks straight into the doorframe.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Jason Todd
Comments: 28
Kudos: 554





	Drive Me Crazy

**Author's Note:**

> A very special thanks to generatorcat for beta reading this fic for me! And always, txbookeater, you're the best!
> 
> Also, here's what Jason is wearing: https://twitter.com/XdressLingerie/status/1176904658553622528?s=19

Undercover work. Putting on one face in exchange for another. Different personalities, mannerisms, behaviors. They are all trained in it, initially by Bruce and then fine-tuned by Alfred. 

Tim especially loves it. There’s an art to the transformation that appeals to what remains of his artistic nature. Years of detective work had taken the wonder out of photography for him, but shreds of that small boy still remain. He clings to them, refusing to turn into another Bruce. 

Not everyone, however, shares his enthusiasm. 

Which is why he’s here, making his way up the stairs to Jason's apartment. He'd received a text from the man a couple hours ago, asking if he can come over and help him prepare for an undercover assignment. Something about needing help with makeup, which is why Tim carries his Alfred-approved cosmetic kit that contains almost everything an undercover vigilante or anti-hero would need.

The stairwell has seen better days, flickering lights and peeling paint lending an almost horror movie-esque feel to his surroundings. An irregular squeak gives credence to the belief that he isn’t entirely alone in here either. On Jason's floor, the hallway is no better than the stairs. At least there isn't ragged carpet to trip on. 

Five doors down, Tim comes to a stop and knocks. "It's me," he calls out for good measure. Getting shot is low on his list of fun activities. 

There’s no answer, so he tries again. Still nothing. 

Tim checks his watch, then his phone to make sure he hasn't gotten the times mixed up. The message says six and so does the time. 

His phone vibrates with an incoming message. 

_ Use your key.  _

Smiling, he digs into his pocket. The key had been a gift from Jason only last month, a rather large step in their developing relationship. 

He wonders what the next one will be. 

Unlocking the door while juggling his makeup kit proves a challenge. The door opens, then sticks as usual, so he kicks at the base to shove it wider. With his attention mostly on the door, Tim briefly takes note that his boyfriend isn't in the living room. Closing the blasted thing, he locks it and pauses briefly to slip his sneakers off. 

"Jason?" he calls out again.

"Bedroom," a familiar voice responds. 

Figuring he’s getting dressed, Tim picks his way across the small apartment, deftly weaving around stacked piles of books that are in desperate need of a bookcase. Unless his eyes deceive him, there are more than when he was last here. 

Chuckling, he enters the bedroom. "Did you buy more books –?"

He trails off, words utterly failing in the face of the dream vision before him. 

Jason stands by the bedroom window, hands up on the sill where he’s in the midst of pushing it closed. A hint of cigarette smoke lingers in the air. The sight is familiar. 

What he’s wearing is most definitely not. 

A leather garter belt hugs his hips, the straps trailing down his thighs where little clips grip the top of what has to be custom hosiery because there is no way Jason can just buy these at the store. His thighs are tree trunks that were just  _ made _ to be climbed. But what makes matters worse, due to some trick of the light, Tim would swear on Alfred that he isn't wearing underwear. The bare curves of his ass, muscled and yet so soft in appearance – 

Tim veers off course and walks straight into the doorframe. 

A deep, rich laugh erupts from Jason as he steps away from the window. "I knew you'd be surprised but damn. That's better than I expected."

Opening eyes that had automatically closed on impact, Tim rubs his nose. "Give a guy some warning, seriously."

"I said I was going undercover." 

Tim doesn't know if he should laugh or cry at the sight of Jason's very skimpy pair of panties. The pouch manages to conceal his junk, but just barely. If he so much as twitches the wrong way, the world is getting a show. 

"Yeah, but you didn't say as what!" he protests. Oh man, this is shaping up to be the best or worst night of his life. 

Jason snaps his fingers. "Eyes are up here, Timmers."

Flushing, Tim tears his gaze away from below Jason's waist. Not that the shirtless visage of his boyfriend is any better. Miles upon miles of toned muscle, planes of lightly tanned skin, and roadways of scars he wants to map with his tongue. 

Fuck. 

Now he knows why he’s here. 

"Need help with the concealer?" he asks, striving to put his hard-on in the back seat where it belongs. 

Jason's lips quirk. "Yeah. Figured you'd have the good stuff too. I don't want someone to rub the wrong place and get a different kind of show." 

"I got you covered. Literally." Game face on, Tim hoists the kit he miraculously hasn’t dropped yet. "Kitchen or bathroom?" 

The bathroom will be the death of him, but he'll try. Small space, close proximity. Full access to Jason's body... 

Well, that’s happening either way, but in the kitchen, he can at least take a breather. As long as Jason doesn’t ask him to help with any manscaping –which he clearly didn’t do because hello, Tim has great eyesight– he can do this. 

"Kitchen," Jason decides. "With all the lights on, it's almost as bright as the bathroom."

Thank god. 

The task is as arduous as Tim expects. Primer, foundation, concealer. And the blending. Dear god, any thoughts he has about this process turning him on snuff out almost instantly once he realizes the complexity of the task before him. Knife scars, bullet wounds, claw marks, Jason’s body is a war zone of complex colors and textures.

By the time he uses the setting spray on the last scar on Jason’s shoulder, almost three hours have passed.

“You’re a perfectionist, aren’t you?” Jason asks, adjusting the mirror he’s been using to keep track of Tim’s progress.

“This surprises you?” Tim counters, sitting back and rolling his neck from side to side to loosen the stiff muscles.

“Nah. It’s why I asked you to help.” Jason sets the mirror down and stands, shrugging his heavy shoulders. “Although I bet Alfie would have helped too. He loves this kind of shit.”

“But then you’d have to go to the Cave wearing that.” The thought of Bruce’s face seeing Jason in his costume has Tim grinning. “Pretty sure Damian isn’t ready for this kind of education yet.”

“He’s fourteen, you can’t tell me Dickie hasn’t snuck him a porno rag by now.”

“I try to avoid anything to do with Damian and sex whenever possible.”

“Wise move.”

Now that he’s no longer so intent on concealing scars, Tim has a fantastic view of Jason’s mostly bare ass. The urge to touch, to  _ lick _ , grows and if he were a weaker man, he’d have to sit on his hands to avoid making a fool out of himself.

“I’m glad you have an apron to wear,” he comments instead. 

Jason is going undercover at a private club that caters to some questionable tastes. The manager is a younger cousin of Salvatore Maroni and she apparently enjoys having mostly nude and very muscular men waiting on her hand and foot. But that isn’t what caught the attention of the Red Hood. Someone there is dealing a laced version of fentanyl that has killed four people already. Whether it’s Raphaela Maroni or one of her underlings, he isn’t certain yet.

But tonight will start bringing home some answers.

“Me too although I doubt it hides much,” Jason replies. “I’m curious to see how many bruises I’ll have on my ass later.”

The thought of some random stranger touching what Tim has barely even seen makes his blood boil. He knows he shouldn’t be upset; this is for a case and nothing else. Hell, he’s done the same thing before and in four-inch heels with an over-the-top blonde wig that rose nearly a foot over his head.

It’s just a case. Really. It doesn’t mean a thing.

Jason must be picking up on his train of thought because he turns around, staring down at where Tim still sits stewing. “Hey.”

“What?”

“Stop thinking about it.”

Tim sighs and meets Jason’s eyes. “I understand why you’re doing this, but I just… I don’t like the thought of you getting pawed at.”

Jason smirks. “Because you haven’t had a chance to yet?”

“That’s part of it, yeah.” Tim can admit that out loud, even if he inwardly cringes at how it makes him sound.

What they have between them grew slowly over the years. Starting with tentative partnerships when cases overlapped, then periodic game or movie nights emerged where Tim would order in. When Jason came over with a bag of groceries with the intent to make dinner instead of eat take-out, it hadn’t taken the world’s second greatest detective very long to put the clues together. The first time Tim kissed Jason was a moment he’d never forget, the culmination of a decade old crush.

Hard and soft, and so, so warm, Tim thought he’d melt away under the onslaught.

He assumed it would only be a matter of time before they ended up in bed together. But as the weeks stretched into months without moving past first base, he was forced to reassess.

_ “Am I doing something wrong?” Tim asks, face buried in the side of Jason’s neck as he tries to catch his breath after a spectacular display of tonsil hockey. His body is aflame with desire and his cock aches, stiff and full and ready to go in the confines of his jeans. _ __

_ But beneath him, stretched out on the sofa, Jason is noticeably not despite the grinding and gyrations of the last half hour. _ __

_ “No, you’re not,” comes the reply. “It’s not you, it’s me.” _ __

_ Tim snorts, boner wilting as his blood rushes back to his head to light up his cheeks. “That line never bodes well.” _ __

_ “Don’t get me wrong, Tim. I like this. I really do. But…” Jason trails off with a sigh. _ __

_ This is it. They’re done for. Over. Kaput. Another failed relationship under his belt. Why does he even try anymore? He has never felt as strongly toward anyone as he does for Jason, not even when he was with Steph. _ __

_ Jason starts speaking again and Tim braces himself for the rejection he’s certain is coming. _ __

_ “I’m demisexual.” _ __

_ Mental brakes slam on, forcing Tim to sit up and stare. “What?” _ __

_ “I’m demi. Or gray-ace if you prefer,” Jason repeats. “I know you know what that means.” _ __

_ “Yeah, but… Why didn’t you say anything sooner? I wouldn’t have pressed for, well, this.” Tim gestures weakly between them. _ __

_ “For someone so damn smart, you sure are fucking stupid sometimes.” Jason’s eyes blaze, taking on a green tint that indicates how angry he’s growing. “People on the ace spectrum can be in relationships, moron. Healthy ones too. We just don’t feel the same way toward sex as the rest of the goddamned world.” _ __

_ Tim flounders, trying to salvage the situation and his pride. He’s familiar with the asexual spectrum, but is clearly missing something vital. “I’m confused.” _ __

_ Heavy hands settle on either side of his hips, holding him in place across Jason’s thighs. “I can tell. Gimme a second here to figure out how to phrase it.” _ __

_ “I read this once and liked the analogy,” Jason says after a minute. “Thought it was rather appropriate to us too. When we go to a coffeeshop together, you order your coffee and I order my tea. It’s not that I don’t like coffee, it’s just not what I prefer to drink. Sometimes though, I do. That make sense? _ __

_ Tim frowns, trying to follow the line of logic. “What you’re saying is that occasionally you  _ do _ feel like having sex.” _ __

_ Jason nods. “I’m demi, so I’m not completely sex-averse. I just don’t crave it with people like you do. I like getting off, but it takes time for me to want to share that with someone.” He rocks his hips in emphasis. “Obviously, neither of us are going to right now because you have questions. I can see them spinning around in that big brain of yours.” _

The revelation was an eye-opener and changed the lens through which Tim had viewed their entire relationship. He’d taken a week to think things over, to  _ research _ because that’s what he does when presented with a new problem. When he came back armed with more questions that Jason patiently answered, he felt more confident about what he was getting into.

Jason might not pop boners like he does whenever their movie nights devolve into intense make-out sessions, but Tim no longer questions that he’s doing something wrong. It wasn’t easy coming to terms with the fact that the person he loves doesn’t desire him the same way he does. Rather, Jason cares in a different way and expresses it loudly and often, which Tim can see once he recognizes the signs to watch for.

“Come over when I’m done tonight,” Jason says, tearing Tim from his thoughts and back to the present.

“Why?”

“Because I need a hand getting this shit off. I don’t want to sleep in it.”

Tim narrows his eyes. “It’ll last for a good day or two if you’re careful.”

Jason grabs hold of Tim’s chin and leans over to seal their mouths together in a brief kiss. “Just do it, okay? I’ll be here by three.”

Confused, all he can do is nod in agreement. “Fine. Should I bring dinner? Or breakfast?”

“How ‘bout both? That food truck that likes to set up shop over on Henry Street makes a killer breakfast burrito.”

Tim’s mouth waters at the thought of chorizo, eggs, beans, and cheese all wrapped together in a homemade tortilla. “Deal.”

* * *

Jason is just approaching the apartment building when Tim drives up several hours later, still partially dressed in his costume if the stockings his cargo shorts reveal is any indication. His ensemble is odd – shorts, leather jacket, and his combat boots – for this part of town, but then again, he doesn’t give three shits what most people think. It shouldn’t look as hot as it does, but then again, Tim knows what those shorts conceal.

He sighs softly, remembering the jerk-off session he indulged in earlier and the fantasy he’d built around it. Jason bent over the kitchen table, legs splayed wide open wearing nothing but his garter belt and stockings. His bare ass on display, the crevice slick and shiny with spit from where Tim ate him out. But instead of fucking into that little pink hole, he stood over him, stroking his cock and painting all that bare skin white with his come.

His cock twitches at the memory and Tim puts the brakes on. He really hopes Jason feels like a hot chocolate sometime soon and offers him a hand. For all the talk about going to the coffeeshop together, the most Jason ever does is give him some space to run to the bathroom when their make-out sessions grow too intense.

Acting on a whim, he slows and rolls down the passenger window, grinning wide. “Hey, handsome. Can I tempt you with a good time?”

“Only if it involves food and a foot massage,” Jason replies without even slowing down.

“Wash your feet first and I can be persuaded.”

Jason cracks a smile and glances over. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve had my ass swatted tonight?”

“Are you saying you want that massaged too?” Because the answer is a most definite yes. 

“What’re you offering in exchange?” 

Tim holds up a wrapped burrito, knowing full well the dual meaning isn’t lost on the other man. “One of these and an order of chili fries with that queso fresco you like so much.”

Jason comes to a full stop and leans in though the open window, grinning wide. “And this is why you need to be my Robin. You anticipate my needs like no one else.”

“Bruce still has better health benefits,” Tim replies, comfortable with the knowledge they’d hashed out this argument a long time ago. “I’ll be up in a few. Wash those feet.”

Leaving Jason behind, he drives away in search of a place to park.

It doesn’t take long and he’s soon sitting in Jason’s kitchen, burrito in hand and the chili fries sitting between them as he listens to what happened at the club.

“That bitch is a real piece of work,” Jason is saying. “I was hired on as a bartender, so I was mostly learning the ropes back there, but the way she treats the guys there – I had to bite my tongue so many times or I would have been fired in a heartbeat.”

“Do you think she’s directly dealing that laced fentanyl?” Tim asks around a mouthful of oozy goodness. Manners are not a thing he cares about this early in the day. Or late. As far as he’s concerned, tomorrow is a thing that happens after he wakes up.

“Too soon to tell.” Jason reaches for a fry and makes sure it’s fully loaded before dropping it in his mouth. He’s ditched his jacket and sits shirtless at the table. “I have some ideas for who I can possibly use for information now, and there’s a backroom in the VIP lounge that I learned about through some strategic eavesdropping.”

“So you’re back tomorrow night then? Are you sure you want to wash all my hard work off?” Tim prods. “Depending on what you sleep in, and if you just take a quick rinse in the shower to wash your hair, I should only have to do some touch-ups instead of spending hours redoing it all.”

Jason leans back in his chair, his burrito half unwrapped from the foil and already a third of the way devoured. “What, you don’t want to spend time with me?”

Tim gives him a flat look. “I have a WE function tomorrow evening. I’m already planning to bail early just to make it over here to give you a hand. The less I have to fix, the better.”

“Why didn’t you say that sooner?” Jason throws a fry at him. “I’m not impossible to negotiate with.”

Tim deftly catches the fry before it hits his t-shirt and pops it in his mouth. “No, but I’ve noticed my track record is better when there’s food on the table.”

“True. The way to my heart is through my stomach.”

* * *

After such a rich meal, Tim is more than ready to pass out on the sofa for a few hours before even attempting to make his way home. He yawns, jaw popping in the process, and casts his gaze toward the cushioned surface with the intent to do just that. It won’t be the first time he’s slept there, and he doubts it will be the last.

“I need a smoke,” Jason mutters, shoving away from the table. The scant remains of their meal is wadded up in the foil wrappers and has been tossed into the decimated container that once held chili cheese fries.

“I’ll clean up,” Tim offers, biting his tongue about Jason and his habit. He’s trying to quit, but the patches and gum haven’t quite cut it. Not to mention he’d taken one look at the side effects of the leading prescription medication that’s supposed to help and noped out so fast Tim thought he’d given himself whiplash.

Rising to his feet, Jason stretches unselfconsciously. Muscles ripple and Tim’s eyes are drawn to the thin trail of hair that runs from just beneath the bellybutton only to disappear into Jason’s shorts.

Dammit. He needs to stop doing this. Forcing his gaze upward, it doesn’t help much. Tight abdominals give way to pectorals he wants to bury his face between while playing with those dark little nipples. In his pants, his cock stirs, and Tim has to completely look away, turning his attention to the trash left on the table. Right. He has a chore to complete. Work is always a good distraction.

Jason doesn’t say anything and wanders out of the kitchen through the living room to his bedroom. He never smokes inside the apartment but opens the bedroom window to lean out or sit on his fire escape.

The distance gives Tim’s blood a chance to cool down. What is wrong with him? He’s been popping inappropriate boners all over the place tonight. So what if Jason looks fucking hot in his little uniform? They’ve showered together in the Batcave before, so it isn’t like he doesn’t know what the full package looks like.

(It’s perfect, and he wants to wrap his mouth around it, fucking his face until he chokes on Jason’s come.)

Growling, Tim drops the trash in the bin and slams his hands flat on the counter. “Get your shit together, Drake,” he murmurs. “You are not ruled by your hormones, no matter how fucking hot your boyfriend looks in a pair of panties.”

Not wanting a repeat of earlier, no matter how much his cock wishes otherwise, he washes up the best he can at the kitchen sink to give Jason time to finish his cigarette. Then he retreats to the sofa to wait for his chance in the only bathroom to brush his teeth. Having a toothbrush here is another of those small steps that make him stupidly happy.

He hears the flush of the toilet and the water running after a minute. It cuts off too quickly for it to be the shower, striking him as strange. Unless Jason had taken him seriously about washing his feet?

His question is answered a moment later when Jason emerges from the bedroom.

“Do you still want that foot massage…?” Tim trails off as he takes in the sight coming to a stop in the small space between the coffee table and his knees.

Jason has removed his shorts. And that’s all. He’s still wearing the stockings, garter belt, and barely-there panties Tim had walked in on earlier. This close, they really aren’t concealing much. He might not be hard, but his balls are nigh on obscene with how they’re straining against the silky-smooth fabric.

Swallowing, Tim puts on his game face and makes sure his eyes are where they belong. On Jason’s face.

It’s an effort.

“Why are you doing this to me?” He needs to know. It’s one thing to respect Jason’s sexuality and preferences, but what he’s doing is straight up torture.

“Because I’ve been thinking about you and your reaction to this costume all damned night. That our relationship is a two-way street and I haven’t been carrying my weight.”

It suddenly dawns on Tim what Jason is getting at.

“Jay, if you’re not interested in having sex, then that’s okay. We’ve gone over this before. My hand and my toys get along fine. Being able to touch you, to just  _ be _ with you, that means so much already.” Left unsaid is how long it took them to reach this point in the first place. No point in ruining the moment.

Jason leans down to brace his hands along the back of the sofa, bracketing him between those brawny arms. “I appreciate that, Tim. I really do. But I  _ want _ to do this. It’s not an obligation to make you happy. Tonight, I had people pawing at me every time I walked out from behind that bar. It made me realize that the only person I want to have actually touch me is currently sitting on his hands.”

Tim glances down. Yes, he’s doing exactly that. Flushing, he replies, “If I don’t, then I’m not going to be able to keep them to myself.”

“Consider this your invitation.” Drawing away, Jason stands upright and plants a stockinged foot between Tim’s parted knees. “Touch me. Take these off.”

The temptation to do just that is strong, but he keeps his hands where they are. “There’s more to it than you getting groped, isn’t there?”

“Tim, you seem to have forgotten that I’m demi. My undercover gig might not have given me clues for my case, but it did reinforce one glaring fact.”

“Which is?”

“That I trust you. I’m ready to take this step. With you. Now take off the damn stocking and touch me.”

Tim’s hands tremble as they emerge from beneath his thighs. He’s dreaming. He has to be. This...This...His fingers come in contact with Jason’s calf and the sudden reality of it all slams into him with the force of one of Killer Croc’s punches.

He can have this.

The stockings are smooth as silk, hugging every inch of muscle concealed beneath the sheer fabric. At the top, a lacy band surrounds the trunk of Jason’s thigh. Delicate little clips connect it to straps of the garter belt.

Meeting Jason’s eyes, Tim confidently unclips the front and back straps. He’s done this before, he knows how it works. Not dropping his gaze, he leans in and presses his lips where flesh meets silk. Heated skin twitches beneath his touch and he rolls the top of the stocking down, revealing more toned muscle for him to explore.

Every inch is carefully perused by his mouth and fingers, tracing their way down to the top of Jason’s knee and beyond. Gently, Tim massages his calf, then lifts Jason’s foot when he can’t bend over more, knowing he won’t be putting the other man off-balance. He removes the remaining fabric and mouths at the join of Jason’s foot and ankle.

“Do you still want that massage?” he asks, hoping,  _ praying _ , that Jason says no, that he wants him to continue with worshipping every bit of skin he’s allowed to touch. His cock aches in his shorts, straining against his boxers. Never before has he been so glad to change clothes earlier.

“Not yet. You have another one to do first.” Jason plants his other foot on the sofa and wiggles his toes.

Going for the clips, Tim pauses to stare. There’s a tent in Jason’s underwear where his own cock has started to fill. It’s not anywhere near the levels of his own, but it’s definitely noticeable. A thrill of pride flows through his veins because  _ he _ did that.

He mouths at the softer skin of Jason’s inner thigh as he deftly unclips the stocking from the garter belt. This time, he takes a chance and licks.

A heavy hand lands on his head and tugs at his hair. “Fuuuck.” Jason sounds like he’s been punched in the gut and Tim redoubles his efforts, using his tongue as he noses his way inward. He can be forgiven for not giving this leg the same treatment, even though he does make sure to keep the same touch as he rolls the stocking down and over Jason’s foot.

The taste of sweat and soap hit his tongue, evidence that Jason planned ahead for this. Tim purrs as he mouths the outside of the panties, dampening the fabric with his spit. Jason’s cock twitches beneath the fabric, still not fully hard, but getting there.

He has an idea and draws away, rubbing idle circles along the outside of those magnificent thighs. “Switch places with me?”

Jason arches a brow. “What have you got in mind?”

“I’ve wanted to eat your ass since I walked into the doorframe.”

The candor earns him a chuckle, but Jason complies, kneeling backwards on the sofa with his knees spread wide. “Like this?” he asks, looking over his shoulder.

Tim drops to the floor, ignoring the flash of pain as his bare knees hit the thin carpet. “Exactly like that.”

Jason’s ass is exquisite, a work of art framed by muscular thighs and a trim waist. The curves are more pronounced than Dick’s, a fact Tim takes great delight in as he massages the firm globes. He wants to slap one to see if it jiggles, but Jason had already mentioned how much he’s been groped tonight, so he keeps his touch light and soothing.

His mouth waters as he makes his way inward, spreading apart the cheeks to find the line of Jason’s panties. He tugs them aside and reveals a tight little pucker.

Finally.

Tim drags his tongue over it and beneath him, Jason quivers.

“Chriiist, Tim.”

He needs more, needs to hear that again. His sole purpose for being has suddenly become to make Jason come on his tongue.

Redoubling his efforts, Tim licks the hole again, pressing against it with undulating little pulses before the tip slips inside.

Jason tries to squirm, but Tim maintains a firm hold. “You like this?”

A hand snakes around to grab hold of his wrist and yanks it forward. “Whaddya think?”

Tim thinks that Jason’s cock is just as erect as his own. Holy shit, he’s done it. For the first time since they’ve been together, Jason is  _ hard. _ In his own shorts, he feels a dribble of precome slide down his dick.

“I think I want to eat your ass until you come all over my hand.” With that, he slips his fingers beneath the tented fabric of the straining panties and grasps Jason’s cock, stroking it lightly before his grip firms. Fuck, but he can’t wait to have this in his own ass one day. The length is nothing to be ashamed of, but it’s  _ thick _ , which has Tim drooling at the thought of getting speared on it.

What can he say? He enjoys giving and receiving.

Tim returns to his self-appointed task, curling his tongue to drive the tip in, working his way past the tight ring of muscle in short thrusts. In his hand, Jason pulses around him and grunts, sounding just as punched out as before.

Then Jason starts rocking his hips, fucking into the snug circle of his hand.

Growling, Tim snaps the line of his panties hard, knowing from experience how much that stings.

But rather than stop him, Jason’s thrusts grow faster even as his breath picks up. “Tiiiim,” he groans.

Tim knows exactly what he needs. “I got you, Jay.”

On the next backward roll of his hips, the tip of Tim’s thumb slides into Jason’s spit-soaked ass.

Jason keens as he comes, his release soaked up by the scant fabric over his dick and dripping over Tim’s hand.

Tim falls back on his heels and reaches into his own shorts to free his aching cock. He barely registers the slick grip before his orgasm hits him with the full force of a train, mixing his come with Jason’s.

Collapsing against the side of the sofa, Tim struggles to regain his breath. They’d done it. They’d skipped right past second base to third and as far as he’s concerned, this counts as a homerun.

He raises his glistening hand, marveling at the mess.

“You gonna lick it?” Jason asks, voice more curious than anything else.

Leaning his head back, Tim finds that the man has stretched out the full length of the sofa sometime during his come-fugue, resting on his side. His panties are a mess, but there’s no mistaking the pleased afterglow.

“Do you want me to?” The thought isn’t entirely unappealing under the weight of Jason’s blue-green gaze, but it’s never been a kink of his.

“Nah, only if you want to.” Jason stretches, raising his arms over his head and yawns. “I could definitely use that shower though.”

Tim chuckles weakly. “Me too.”

“Good. You can help me clean up so I don’t waste most of your handiwork, then we can go to bed. What time do you need to be out the door?”

Blinking, Tim stares. “I’ve never slept in your bed before.”

“Well I’ve never had a tongue up my ass before.” Jason sticks his out and waggles it around. “Figure that earns you a more comfortable place to sleep. And a real pillow.”

The temptation to smack him is strong, but the closest hand he has for that is covered in quickly drying come. “I have a tendency to sprawl,” he warns.

“And I run hotter than a furnace, so if you decide not to cuddle, you won’t break my heart.”

Chuckling, Tim shifts around so that he and Jason are face to face. “Jay,” he says softly. “Thank you for this. It means a lot.”

Jason presses his thumb against Tim’s mouth, and he opens it, sucking on the tip. “And you mean a lot to me. Now, come on. I really want that shower.”


End file.
